Closet Skeletons
by Elephants On Parade
Summary: Don't look. Don't fret. And do not- whatever you do- listen to his words. Do not listen. Do not let him get you trapped into a corner. Listen and you will lose yourself, you will do what he wants. Then he will own your soul.
1. Third Times a Charm

**disclaimer: **I do not own Jonathan Crane, or anything Batman related. I hope we all understand that.

**a/n: **I remember that somewhere I read Jonathan made people commit suicide by talking them into it- so this is played off of that idea. But not as morbid, I'm afraid. The concept of him being able to talk people into killing themselves, leads people (or just me) that he can get people to talk. To spill there guts about anything. To be well, honest with themselves. Consequently, all that Jonathan says has a potential to be true.

Keep that in mind as you read this story. Keep it in mind.

Enjoy. -bows-  
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****"Third Times a Charm"**

_Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake, _- Napoleon Bonaparte.

He smiled slyly at the person across from the table, who in turn stared with a rising panic. The blond man ran his fingers over the cool metal of a double-sided coin, clearly discerned by the fact that a wanted man sat across from him. A _crazy_ man who delighted in fear. So carefully, the blond man, the DA of Gotham, gestured towards a chair for Jonathan Crane to sit down in. Excepting the gesture, the twig-thin man (probably older than he) sat down in a chair, and placed his hands on the table with his fingers spread. Then as if deciding that wasn't comfortable, he pulled his hands up, and rested his head on them.

Still smiling, he started off in a slow, almost warm voice, "So, you're Harvey Dent, right? No, don't answer that. I know who you are. What I want to know- is why start getting involved in the law?"

Firmly, Harvey replied, "I don't have to tell you."

"But I think you do. You don't really have a choice here, now do you? Who is the one who has the knowledge of how people, 'honest' or 'criminal'?" the blue eyed man inquired, lips pressing together in an almost angry manner.

"You do," the blond grudgingly admitted, glancing warily at the phone on the wall.

Scowling, Jonathan snapped, "Don't even think about it."

"Think about what?"

"Calling the police. They won't help Harvey Two-Face," he sneered, "And you know it."

Flinching at the nickname, Harvey turned his furious gaze at the dark-haired criminal. He snarled, "Don't think that! They would rather help me than scum like you!"

"Temper, temper, Mr. Dent," Jonathan murmured back, voice dropping several octaves, becoming low and convincing, "You _want_ to tell me your story, your reasoning behind entering the law, you _know_ you do. You want to. You want to talk about it to someone- the reasoning behind it. You do. _Trust_ me."

"Trust- trust you? I don't think so," he started, "But... I'll tell you anyways. It's so people don't have to be afraid of scum like you."

"Really?" Jonathan's eyebrows rose comically into his hairline, but he didn't look any less the haughty feline, "That's such a generic reason, that I almost believe you. I think there is more to it than that. Why don't we talk about it? I'll ask you a few questions, if you don't mind, and you can ask me a few in return. If that's acceptable, and fair to you."

"Alright," he reluctantly agreed, because some part of him wanted to know about Jonathan, as much as the ex-doctor seemed to want to know about him, "You start."

Smiling, and leaning back now, the criminal began, "Good, good. Now, let's see... Has there been any, abuse in your household when you were a child?"

Harvey flinched, the man had hit a bullseye at that question, and feeling humbled to answer because he had agreed to the deal, he had to answer, "... Yes. My father beat me at times when I didn't get good grades. But it stopped in the sixth grade."

With a curious tilt of his head, Jonathan recorded that in the back of his mind, before gesturing to Harvey to ask his question.

"Any abuse in yours? Seeing as that was the first you asked me, you have had some experience with it," Harvey ventured, surprised at the ex-doctor's cool disposition. He had thought there would be much more jittering, and mumbling from someone who was mad. Perhaps, they were wrong about Crane? No, couldn't be.

"Why yes," Jonathan smiled sweetly, "There was. My grandmother did all manner of beatings until she died, or rather, I failed to save her from her fall. Drowning, burns, lashes, you name it." He waited until Harvey was done gaping before he continued to ask his question, "Religion? Do you practice a religion?"

"No," Harvey replied, "Just don't, you?" He had decided to ask the same question the ex-doctor did. It might prove to be annoying, and make the man leave.

"Same," Jonathan replied curtly, already knowing the blond's plan, and decided to poke around the apartment. Or rather, he needed to use the bathroom. Standing up and heading down the hall to what he knew was the bathroom (he just knew, one of those things where you could just tell), he stopped at the door to the bathroom. He figured Harvey would already be on the phone, calling the police. He shrugged.

Too bad. This was fun.

Harvey was indeed dialing 9-1-1, breathing relief when it was Gordon who picked up, "Gordon!? Look, look- I need your help."

"_Harvey? What is it?_"

"Jonathan Crane- Scarecrow- is- in- my- house," Harvey explained, urgent.

"_Got it. We'll be right over._"

Harvey let out a breath of relief as he hung up the phone, silently celebrating his 'victory' over the ex-doctor. Somehow he understood that Jonathan had been after this the whole while, the 'getting caught by the police', but instead had decided to have gained something from the experience. Somehow.

When the criminal came out, Harvey informed him, "I called the police. They should be here in a few minutes."

Jonathan in turn shrugged, and sat down on the couch. Politely, he laid his hands out in front of him, shoulders slumped. He wasn't making any attempts to run, which was strange, but he wasn't making any attempts to show that he didn't have an escape plan. From what Harvey could see, the thin man didn't have any of his- 'fear toxin' with him. This should have been taken in account as an oddity, but it had not been. This was the first mistake.

The police, a total of five officers including Gordon rushed in, guns trained on the ex-doctor, who smiled sincerely up at them. He held out his hands calmly as they brought the handcuffs out, and cuffed his hands in front of his body. Jonathan was clearly unarmed, and not a physical fighter, so what did it matter how his hands were cuffed? It didn't. So with the excess officers leading the alleged madman out of the DA's apartment and towards the stairs, it was clear that there had not been any damage to said DA. Harvey merely smiled, and waved Gordon away when he attempted to ask if the blond was alright. He then proceeded to lock his door, and head off to bed.

It had been a rather interesting evening, and he just wished Batman had been around to share in it.

-

Jonathan stared aimlessly at his hands, almost interested in the way they blurred in and out of focus depending on how he stared. It was amusing for all of two seconds until the policemen (and woman) started to take him down the stairs when Gordon left the DA's apartment. He stepped slowly, refusing and pushes or shoves that were intended to make him go faster. This was at his leisure, not their's. So when there was a rough strike to his back, he stumbled forth down the stairs in a way that made his hands being cuffed in front of his body useful. He caught himself just before he hit the second floor's floor (thankfully he had been three steps away from it).

Twisting to stare angrily at the policeman who had shoved him, he found that his turtleneck had come down from its position on his neck due to being caught on the floor. He felt five pairs of eyes trained on the angry red mark that wove its jagged self around his pale neck. Snarling, Jonathan stood up and glared at them all. He tugged the neck up so it covered the scar, and grudgingly waited until the law-enforcers got over the shock of the cruel mark. They swore they had never seen anything like it until they saw the Joker's scars.

But that was all in good time. All in good time.

Gordon was tempted to ask the ex-doctor how he had gotten the wound, but found the words caught in his throat. They refused to come out, simply refused to leave his mind, hanging there, on the tip of his tongue. The second mistake had been made. It as slowly reaching the third strike. We all know what happens when there are three strikes. You're out, is the norm. So instead he led Jonathan to one of the police cars, and sat him down in the back. Apprehensive, Gordon decided to take a seat in the back as well. Might as well have someone to maker sure the man didn't try anything funny. Jonathan, however, would not.

The only interesting thing that happened on the whole trip to Arkham Asylum, was at the end. The very end, when the police cars were pulling into the gates of the old looking building. The batmobile was parked in front of it, the masked vigilante himself standing outside the car. Clearly he had been waiting for this, waiting for Jonathan to be coming to the Asylum. Perhaps the bat wanted to know why the bird did it. Why he instilled fear into the city, or maybe, who had told him to.

Who had asked.

Who had given Jonathan the push in the wrong direction.

Careful Batman was when he approached the criminal, who had frozen in his tracks upon spotting the Caped Crusader. Frozen in his tracks, a deer in the headlights. The man visibly paled, but his face did not distort, nor his eyes widen. He did not begin to shake, nor did he try to turn tail. Jonathan merely stood there, a mere shade whiter than he already was. Smart enough to carry, or at least know where he hid the antidote for his own fear toxin, that was the first place he had gone after getting electrocuted by Dawes. He had had enough sense in him from the shock to get the hell away from the gas, and over to the secret place he hid the antidote.

It was more effective than the antidote bats had gotten to, eradicating all traces of the toxin in an hour, instead of the four to five days the bats' antidote took.

But still, the effects of the encounter remained. However, it was not the worst he had ever faced.

_No_, he thought to himself as he was steered inside with Batman and the police officers following, _There are things worse than a man in a bat suit._

'Even if,' it began, 'You've been afraid of bats for the longest time?'

"Yes," he hissed under his breath, ignoring the curious stares of the officers and bat. Jonathan stared at them like he didn't know what they were looking at him like that for. So they shrugged, and pegged it as a figment of their imagination. They were expecting Jonathan to be talking to himself, after all, it seemed something the mad did. Only the bat did not shrug it off, and continued to keep his gaze on the ex-doctor.

In a flurry of motion, he was placed in an interrogation room, not cuffed, with only Batman for company. A slow smile worked its way onto his face, and he almost stopped, feeling unsettled by the vigilante's gaze. But he shook it off, deciding to stand firm, and not be unnerved in the slightest. The masked man didn't begin, so Jonathan did the honors, "Hello Batman. What is it that you want from me? I know you want something."

"I don't want _anything_ Scarecrow," Batman snarled, not noticing that the third mistake had just been made, "I want to know why you thought you should follow Ra's al Ghul's plot. _Tell me_. Now!"

"So forceful," murmured Jonathan, before he tilted his head and replied in a very blatant, sincere tone, "I helped the 'League of Shadows', because I was bored. I was _bored out of my mind_. As you seem to have been bored enough to dress up in a batsuit and fight crime- eh, Sir Batty."

"That's the reason you risked countless innocent lives?" Batman was in shock. Boredom drove the man to do this? Not revenge as had been expected? It was uncalled for, and completely ridiculous. But it made sense. That was they key. Jonathan had been bored, and so he did something that had quelled the boredom for a little why. That was it. It was simple, and unusual, and not the normal reason for criminal activity. But it made sense. And so, it was. Another thing that could have been noted, was that Jonathan was a very intelligent person. A genius, some people called him. And a genius often got bored, and therefore did strange things.

"Innocent? How many people in this city do you think are innocent, sir?" Jonathan questioned, voice not wavering one bit, "Wait. Nevermind. Don't answer. I don't want to here your nonesense. Your blasphemy. I do not. So _leave_, you fo-"

He never saw the punch coming, he never felt the pain.

He merely let the darkness slide over, and the haunting, inhuman laughter take over.

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**a/n: **Well. That's the first chapter.

Did you enjoy it? I sure enjoyed writing it. I did, I did.

A forewarning, if I must, that this will be slow updating, unlike A Bird in a Dream. Why? Because this is going to be carefully constructed and thought out. Every word counts, because words are power, as I see it. What we say truly effects others around us. It does. They way things are written do as well- Words are power. Keep that in mind. So if I'm going to be doing something along that context, then it must be carefully thought out before the finished product is put on display.

So please, review, review review. Please, please, review.


	2. These Lips Speak no Lie

**disclaimer:** I can't even afford a Wii. What the hell makes you think I could own Batman?

**a/n: **Nothing really much to say. Except its a little... broken. D: Not completely thought out, but it is. So I don't know. Just read. x3 I'm taking ideas that I got from my oneshot, Guillotine, into this. So if you read that, you'll get a better gist at what some things are. :=:

To Joker'sOnlyFear; Well no. It IS all Jonathan talking. This is the Jonathan I've known and loved for like ever. This is how I see him, and like him to be portrayed as. He gets beat up a lot, like a lot a lot, he has to have something to back him up. If he doesn't have physical strength he's going to have a personality that makes it so that isn't much of a problem, and I would like for other people to see that Jonny's not just a little psychopath hyped up on drugs that's purely random, but as the doctor we all know he's been before. And the scar? Well you'll find out soon.

To J-H G; Handcuffs in the front are really easy to get out of -tried it- but having them in the back is painful and not that easy to get out of. Just to... let you know. ^^

OK. NOW enjoy. (:

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"**These Lips Speak no Lie"**

_Truth may be stretched, but cannot be broken, and always gets above falsehood, as does oil above water, _- Miguel de Cervantes

"So you say you're like Batman, except more for us- the criminals?" the skeptical man asked the makeup wearing man, one dark eyebrow raised in a questioning manner. Light eyes following the movements of the clown, suspicious of what the taller man might be hiding in his hideous purple jacket.

"Now Carl, Carl, Carl, Carl," came the raspy, somewhat comical sounding voice, "When have I ev-ah lied to you?"

There was a snort from someone else in the room, and a dark green glare was swept around the room before refocusing its attention on the now speaking Carl, "All the time boss, all the time."

A frown dripped down on the scarred face, twisted horribly by the lopsided scars that traveled from his lips, one curved sharply, the other rather straight. So now he was a liar, as well as a thief? That wouldn't be good if the others began to doubt him (he needed the labor force for now), so instead he opted for the, "And what is it you seem to want to say, don't worry, I won't get too ma-d."

"Tha Scarecrow fellow is more like Batman than you'll ever be. You? You go for chaos, he- Scarecrow- wants to invoke fear in those he comes across, so he dresses up in masks and things. Batman? He wants to strike fear in the hearts of people like me, and so dresses up as the big black bat. So they're more alike-"

_Bang! Thud._ And a, "I'll have to meet this ah Scarecrow fellow soon."

-

"I'm going to escape tonight," he informed the guard, smile lazy and eyes half lidded. The blue eyed man didn't seem lucid, nay, couldn't be lucid in the guard's opinion. Not with all the sedatives they had to put Jonathan on when he woke up from a certain vigilante punching him.

It had been expected that he would wake slowly, groggily, and at that time they could check and make sure everything was functioning properly. Batman could pack a punch- hell- the man could probably dent metal if he wanted to. Wasn't good to have that kind of strength connecting with faces. Even if the face technically belonged to a criminal, it still wasn't good.

Crane had been livid, his eyes had been dark with some sort of feral vengeance, and when he saw Batman still lurking in the corner, he had attempted to lunge at the man. It hadn't worked considering he was strapped down, but he got damn near close to getting out of the leather straps. Thankfully they had managed to sedate him.

He still got insults out at Batman, but that was about it. Some of them were a little creative, and even the bat seemed to pale at a few. A few others had seemed like older insults, ones from way way back, when there weren't any cars- but it was probably just from Crane's need to know things.

Jonathan knew things, he did, oh how he knew. He knew a-_lot_. Most of it just came to him, there was no way to stop it, it just knocked on the imaginary door to his mind and waltzed right in to join the other tidbits of information. Just like he knew he was going to escape tonight.

And that Batman was head towards his cell right now just to make sure he wasn't going to escape.

_I'm not afraid of Batman, I'm not afraid._

When Batman's half cowled face leaned just barely away from the bars, gloved hands gripping said bars tightly, Jonathan's smile grew. The caped crusader opened his mouth to growl something at the former doctor, said doctor spoke quicker, in a quiet hushed tone that any passerby couldn't hear, "Hello, _Bruce_."

There were a few moments of a trembling silence, quivering, anticipating the roar of the bat's guttural voice. A feeling of fear trickled into Jonathan in those few moments, because he hadn't consciously known that Bruce Wayne was Batman, he had just blurted out the words. But the pieces fell together nicely now that he had informed Wayne he knew.

"How do you know?"

It wasn't that bestial sounding voice Batman normally used, it wasn't disguised, and Jonathan found it all the more appealing to know that there really was someone behind the mask the bat wore. Good. It was real, it was real, it wasn't a lie.

"Batman showed up when a _dead_ Bruce Wayne suddenly came back, clearly a connection, but people are too damn stupid to go for the obvious answer," he answered, drawing away from the bars. Even if he could use the man's secret to blackmail him, the bat could still do serious damage to his skull.

And it wouldn't make Jonathan forget it. He didn't forget things that easily.

Batman grunted at that, he couldn't argue.

"I'm going to escape tonight," Jonathan repeated what he had just said to the guard minutes ago. That caused the bat to look up, fury in his dark eyes.

He growled what Jonathan had expected him to, "You're not getting out of here, you won't escape. You're going to get help."

"These lips of mine speak no lies, bat," was the cold reply, the change in tone barely noted, "Arkham doesn't help people. It makes them worse. Turns the truly mad ones to vegetables, and the ones who aren't get twisted by the drugs they pump into their systems. Arkham makes the crazies, just like you do, now."

An explosion cut off Batman's reply, ringing the air, but it wasn't as loud as it could have been. So it wasn't close to Jonathan's cell, as if that made it impossible for him to escape. As soon as the explosion had sounded, Batman and a rush of all the guards in the area headed towards the sound. Leaving the hallway unguarded.

He had to do this quickly, shaking each bar carefully, looking for the loose one. He knew there was one, but he just couldn't put his finger on the right one. This? No, not that one either- maybe- no. This one, that one there. Slender fingers wrapping around the bar, he jerked it out of place and slid out the opening. Then he put the bar back in like nothing had happened.

The idiots didn't even have security cameras in this wing of Arkham, because there were always guards. Always, but not now. Other inmates in the area stared wistfully at the doctor as he got the hell out of there, but they didn't dare beg for help. Didn't dare ask for his help to get out.

They feared him, and in some ways respected him.

But that didn't matter because he was free and they weren't. He was outside, and they were still in their padded cells with their drugs. And he knew exactly where he was going, not why, but where. That was good enough in any case. With a set destination in mind, it made all the other things matter less. Like how pissed Batman was going to be when he learned the recently captured doctor got out again. Oh, the bat was going to be so mad when he finds the cell empty with no visible method of escape shown.

So angry.

-

It hadn't been hard to find Crane again, it really hadn't, the man didn't cover his tracks. He deliberately didn't cover his tracks, and so Batman found him at an old farm, clearly abandoned. A grove of overgrown weeping willows and a few pine trees was settled near a barn. There wasn't any sign Crane was in the house, so he skipped that and headed towards the barn. Instead of looking into the barn, he heard splashes of water from the grove. Heading to investigate that, Batman saw that there was a pond- a rather clean pond- in the center of the grove.

The kind of place you saw in romantic movies during... major scenes? He didn't know, and he didn't care. Leave the worrying about it to the people who actually cared.

The funny thing was that Crane was in the waist-deep water, _nude_, and Batman was there- staring- and the thin man hadn't even noticed the company yet.

He was standing there, splashing the obviously cold water on his face, trying to scrub something off, and Bruce took the time to note what a sorry state the man's body was in. He was thin, too thin for it to be healthy, and his ribs made heavy contours on his pale skin. Crane's stomach curved in slightly, making the ribs hang over empty space. His arms and legs were bone thin- and what were those marks? His skin was decorated with pale scars, ranging from long, to short, to burns to cuts and even some looked likely to be from lashes. The only one that couldn't be covered easily by clothing was the ringlet around his neck, which was also the only one that seemed bright and fresh. The others old.

"I shall not be bothered by a heathen like you anymore!"

The strange flavor of old English did not sound like an attempt at being sophisticated on the ex-doctor's voice, it sounded like he had spoken that way for a great deal of time. It was there, and it was natural, and that made Batman confused. No one spoke that way anymore- no one he knew- so it was something odd to hear it coming in Crane's voice. His voice hadn't trembled, but there was some sort of underlying fear there. But it wasn't of Batman.

Something else.

He just couldn't see it.

Jonathan could see it, the tall dark form sitting up in the tree branches, mocking him. It had a very skeletal appearence, just like he did, and he intended to be rid of the creature before it was too late. He wouldn't be playing the games of the thing, he wouldn't. If he was going to end up horribly disfigured like this cloak wearing thing said, he was going to do it his way. Not a slow, painful way. He was going to get something out of it. Something in the very least.

The thing jumped down, and waded through the water towards Crane, and a sharp intake of breath from somewhere else alerted the doctor that Batman was watching this. Damn him, but screw it.

The creature reminiscent of a scarecrow- hence he had taken to calling the thing Scarecrow- bowed before Crane. The long pointed hat's tip almost brushing the water, a few bits of straw falling into the water. The face was masked, and the eyes were red. But he could tell there was a grin on the thing's face. Then it spoke in its inhuman tone, musical and frightful at the same time, 'You can't stop It. It can't be stopped 'lest you get help from people you hate. You're becoming one of Us, monsieur.'

"That is a lie," was the slow, chilling reply, and Scarecrow laughed. Then turned, and walked away. It wasn't going to deal with a fool like that, because the doctor should be happy about It. There would be an eternity for the doctor to rethink that, because It was hard to stop once It began. Sometimes the cryptic way of speaking of It was annoying- it would be some much nicer to call It as it really was. However, there had been an unwanted spectator.

"Batman," Jonathan stated, blue eyes watching the bat as he came out of the shadows, "Could you hand me my clothes?"

Startled, the bat complied and tossed the villain his clothes, somehow he had managed to get a turtleneck and jeans- and the malnourished male dressed quickly. Then he held out his hands as if he were trying to imitate a zombie before it clicked. Jonathan was waiting for the cuffs to go around his hands. This time, they were cuffed in the back, a much more cautious way of doing things. Lead to the batmobile, he almost let out a shout of surprise when he was lifted and plopped into the passenger seat.

Head spinning from the sudden drop, the glowing buttons and panels whirred in a tornado fashion. It took fifteen minutes for him to get his head back into the right, and at that point the cuffs were starting to hurt. It was because his feeble weight was making them push into his skin instead of the leather seat. Huffing, Jonathan went to ask Batman if he could at least cuff him so his hands weren't digging into his back when he took a look the scenery.

That wasn't Arkham.

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**a/n: **Where did Bruce take Jonny? WHO KNOWS. I do. Well not really. You should be able to guess easy, it seems to be a thing people who write Jonny fics like to include. Just like how Jonny knows who Batman really is... ya de ya de ya. I know that's pretty cliche. But I need that in there for that to work.

And what will Mistah J do when he finds Scarecrow? And why did he have to kill Carl? He killed Carl! D:

Ok, I'm done. Wrote this before school (and I'm sick while writing it so... mistakes are probably riddled in).

Review, review, review, please please please. I like to know when people read my stuff, and what they think of it.


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